THE BEAUTY AT OUR DOORS by Ingram Crockett

If you should tell the
average traveler that he had gone around the world to see what he might
h8ve seen at home, had he opened his eyes, he would probably look upon
you with pity and a mild scorn. We are slow to learn that Beauty is no
more of the far-away than of the near—no more of the sky than of the
earth—or of the great than of the small. Let us not, therefore, be
deceived by names or places; by conventions or the patronization of a
cult. Beauty is in all, even the meanest weed—indeed, the flower of one
people may be the weed of another, as, for instance, the cardinal
flower, much sought after in France, but with us run wild.

Beauty has need of evangelists among us to open the
eyes of our blind. It is true of Nature as of man that the best is
often despised because it has not about it the glamour of distance. "Is
this not the carpenter's son?" finds its counterpart in: "Is this not a
common thing?"

When, however, we have truly listened to those
evangelists who speak to us in every breeze, in every star, in every sky
tint, or earth tint, or out of the whiteness of the snow, or
crystalline marvel of frost and sleet—or from some flower by the
wayside—then and then only do we open our eyes to the beauty at our doors.

See! the fields invite us.
The Summer has passed. The trees have been touched by the frost. On the
red maple in our yard is the beginning of a great bouquet, whose color
scheme is rich crimson. The salvias at our doorstep are burning scarlet,
and as we watch them standing so brilliantly on the border of Winter,
there is suddenly hung above them an iridescent beauty whose wing-beats
whirr musically and whose throat is a flaming ruby. Here is the very
mystery of that Immortal Beautiful which is the shaper and the spirit of
all. To this simple place have come a voice and an answer out of the
silence. Color has spolcen to color, and in the meeting of this common
salvia and this common humming-bird Beauty and Life have kissed one
another.

But come, the path leads on by the privet hedge,
that glistens with mellow sunshine, into the garden where the
chrysanthemums are opening their spicy flowers. 'K few
asters gleam like the first stars of evening from a grassy bank. The
sumacs that overtop the lattice seem to drip scarlet and yellow. The
leaves of the peach trees fall in fitful showers of winered and
yellow-green. Just beyond the garden fence, that Is banked with
purple-stemmed raspberries, the tall native trees of the forest invite
with subtle suggestiveness to the fuller, freer life of the country. ,

All around us on this
common way are to be found marvels of delicate work that come from the
soul of Beauty without thought of us, but that richly repay us as we
give to them our thought—as we stand beside them in the harmony of the
spirit of the whole.

Here, just overtopping the ragweeds, is a grayish,
shriveled plant, bearing several pointed, oblong pods. The whole is
wintry looking, as though it had prepared for long months of cold by
wrapping itself in floss-lined garments. But if we examine one of these
garments we shall find that before the first snow has scattered its
crystals here, the silken wonder of this plant shall have drifted far on
the winds of Autumn in the silent destiny of its renewal.

See how perfectly and how
beautifully part ia adapted to part. How close these packed seeds lie in
their satiny case, overlapping like brown scales, yet winged with
silvery lightness. Lift one of the seeds from its bed and after a
moment's exposure to the air the floss that was slightly damp and
compact expands—every filament stands out, and caught by the winds, the
seed is borne away on its own exquisite twinkling wings.

Through the Summer months, yes, from the first
upspringing of this milkweed and from the beginning of its renewal life,
how marvelously has Beauty worked through broad pale green leaf and
purple
flower—through butterfly and sunlight and rainboT —to bring this hidden
silver to be revealed, to give itself to mellowing days and cooling
winds in a new. service.

As one stands beside this
common thing, having come truly in touch with it, is there not opened a
vista of exceeding loveliness that we had not dreamed of before? Are we
not made to realize the kinship of all and the perfect design of the
ever living Law?

Green, and purple, and gold, and wings that beat
softly to the call and in the mission of Beauty. The earth, the sun, the
rain, and the air lending themselves lest a milkweed should perish,
working in this humble plant that which it hath pleased the Spirit to
produce.

As we leave the milkweed
we cannot fail to sec, if our eyes are alert, a tall, shrubby plant upon
whose top are a few yellow blossoms. Bending over these, we find that
they give forth a spicy fragrance—that
some are partially closed, while others are spreading their four
delicate petals like the greenish-golden wings of a butterfly. It is the
evening primrose that thus late in the season, and to this frosty air,
opens in the morning as well as at dusk. Its affinity, the sphinx moth,
has departed. The closed blossoms have passed their time of revelry and
are entered upon the holier hours of meditation. The drama of their
existence is about to be complete—but still,
to the open flowers, come all who may serve them— the bumblebees and
certain flies, and still they invite until with crowded seedpods they
are ready for the silent white days of the preparation in the dark
chambers of the earth.

When we really begin to look upon the wayside
flowers, what beautiful mysteries we find them to be. They compel us
until we greet them as friends every time we go afield. In the Winter
and Spring the rosettes of the evening primrose have a message for
us—and with the beginning of its blossoming time it unfolds to us the
threefold picture of its life. First the door swung wide, the fragrant
invitation, the revelry, the rapture of love; then the faded blossom and
the memory; then the closed door, the secret and fruition.

Perhaps while we have been standing on the hillside
by the primrose, a wonderful change has been silently going on above
us. When we began our walk the sky was almost cloudless and the sunlight
enveloped us in a pale golden splendor. Now the sunlight and the whole
landscape are subdued. We look up and see stretched across the sky in
the track of the sun a ribbed whiteness of cloud that seems to be
closely packed against the blue.

Let us lie down for a moment with our faces to the
sky. How often have we ever really looked at that immensity through
which light speaks to us of the
worlds beyond? Have we been waiting all our days for some one to say:
"Lo, here! Lo, there!" or to bring to our notice this wonder of swathing
color with the beating of drums and vulgar fanfare?

Even while we looked on the beauty of the fields,
on the grace of the commonest weeds, these thousand islands of the upper
deep were formed and adorned with the lustre of crystal and
mother-of-pearl.

If our hearts could only
be touched more and more by these simple things! Every day we read of
some, tired of what we have been pleased to call, until the word has
been worn threadbare, the strenuous life, who turn away into a community
of kindred spirits for rest and joy. It is a protest that has its
value, yet not altogether by turning away from, but by seeing, in the
midst of life and work, the beautiful, are men made happy. We do not
need to desert the great work-a-day world, but rather to bring to it the
Spirit of Beauty that speaks to us from earth, and sea, and sky, and in
the hearts and the laughter of little children.

About Me

Since childhood I have been interested in the world of natural aromatics. This interest gradually developed into our home business White Lotus Aromatics. Keypoints along this aromatic journey were:
1) living on a small farm in India where many tropical fragrant plants were to be found
2) a career in horticulture, highlighted by working on a formal garden estate, Filoli
3) many journeys throughout the length and breadth of India to explore India's ancient and modern aromatic traditions.
Please note that I have an interest in the wonderful world of natural aromatics, but have no therapeutic expertise. Any mention of ayurveda or other traditional healing systems in strictly for cultural interest.